


One less human

by thewightknight



Category: Hellboy (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based around the events of Hellboy 2: The Golden Army, because I always feel for the tortured bad guys</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It should have been a dream

I’m writing this down so perhaps it will seem less like a dream, so in re-reading the words I can relive it as it happened, so the experience won’t fade away as quickly.  I’m sure, even reading this and with my remembrance, in a week or so, once my hands heal, I’ll be questioning my sanity.

 

I was tired of being alone in the house. Ironic, because I used to wish for more time to myself, and now that’s all I have.  So now here I am in this big empty brick of a building, and even with all the lights on and the TV blasting it still echoes with ghostly footsteps and laughter.  A year already, the longest of years.

 

It was still early enough in springtime that it was dark by about 8:30, and a walk in the woods along the river just suddenly seemed like the thing to do.  The park gates were closed at dusk, but there was a break in the fence along the jogging path on one of the side roads in the industrial park off the access road.  It wasn’t but three minutes between thinking, deciding, and leaving, just stopping to grab my walking stick on the way out the door.  It was a good stick, a piece of driftwood with a knobbed end, exactly the right height, that I’d found at the beach years ago. 

 

The path, always busy with joggers and bikers during the day, was empty, and I could hear the leaves rustle and the water of the river next to the trail lap against the shore. 

 

Tradition already broken, I started walking in the opposite direction from where I would have normally gone, away from the trestle bridge and the park and west along the water, away from the lights of the industrial park, into the dark. 

 

The moon was waxing, past half full, and gave just enough light by which to see through the trees.  The wind picked up as I was walking, and the leaves went from a rustle to a lashing frenzy.  It was perfect, just what I needed, covering up the noise in my head.  I walked, thinking nothing, just letting the nature sounds wash over and through me.

 

I focused too much on the leaves, as when I rounded a curve in the trail, I came across a scene straight out of a fantasy movie.  Even with my eyes adjusted to the dark at first glance it looked like shadows cast by the wind tossed trees, but then my brain registered figures, all dressed in black, with strange shaped heads, attacking another figure, also all in black but with silver-white hair moving among them.  It could have been a dance, except for the moonlight shining off sword blades, and the crumpled piles of black cloth around and over which the figures stepped and leaped as they fought.  There were perhaps 15 of the black figures surrounding the white-haired one, with maybe as many on the ground already, when I found them.  The silver-haired figure was adding to the piles on the ground rapidly.  I thought at first his opponents were wearing helmets, crow-shaped, with feathered crests, until one of them flew through the air after being separated from its body and I saw the beak opening and closing still, as if it hadn’t yet registered that it was no longer attached.

 

You’d think I would have stopped in shock, but I kept moving forward, fascinated by the motion, I think.  The silver-clad figure moved with a grace and beauty, unearthly, making every movement part of a dance, and it just didn’t register that I was still walking towards them until I tripped over the body of one of the crow fighters, and then I realized I was near enough that I could feel the wind created by their movements and hear the flapping of their garments over the lashing of the tree limbs.  The central figure, in this brief time, had whittled down his crowd of attackers to three, and as I stopped, he dropped two of them with back and forth sweep of his blade.  He turned to face the one remaining, facing me almost square on, and I saw his face, paler than his hair in the moonlight. 

 

He had a pattern of scars across his face, regular, purposeful, and he was serene, expressionless, almost in a trance despite his exertions.  He was so beautiful, I thought, and then I saw one of the crow beasts half rise from where it had fallen, and slash him across the back.  He turned and stabbed his attacker, but faltered, the first break in grace that I’d seen, and the one remaining crow beast raised its sword, with nothing to stop him from plunging it into the back of the silver-haired one.  My body reacted, without any thought on my part, rushing forward, swinging the knobby head of my walking stick with all my strength.  It connected with the back of the crow beast’s skull, and I felt the crunch of bone through its length even as it snapped in half, the knobbed end flying off into the night.  The creature collapsed slowly, first to its knees and then toppling over sideways, as the man (not man?) with silver hair pivoted slowly and awkwardly, and I jumped back as he swung his sword at me, by sheer chance catching what was left of my walking stick and knocking it out of my hands. 

 

Our eyes met, and locked.  Still on one knee, he faced me, panting now, shallowly, no longer serene, his sword pointed at me but arm trembling.  We held this pose for what seemed like hours to me, but was probably only a second or two.  He tried to rise, and his knee made it about three inches off the ground before he collapsed back down again, the hand holding the sword now on the ground, supporting him, with his other hand going to his back. 

 

I moved forward, intending to help him, and he was upright again, on his knees, with his sword pointed at me.  It still shook, but he held his stance.  I could smell blood now, coppery, strong. 

 

“You’re hurt.  Let me help you,” I said, in as soothing a tone as I had.

 

“Keep your distance, human.  I need no help from the likes of you.”  His voice, strained from pain, was still musical.  He had a trace of an accent, a lilt to his voice.  I felt like I should be able to place it, but couldn’t.

 

“You’d be dead now if I hadn’t helped you just now.  And you’ll die if you don’t get some help for your back. You’re bleeding.  Please, let me help you.”

 

The trembling of the sword had been increasing during this short exchange, and the point dropped now.  I don’t think he actually relented.  He couldn’t hold it up anymore.  He sagged, his free hand now on the ground, supporting him, with the sword still pointed in my direction but dropping, lower and lower as his strength bled out.  I held both hands out, palms up, and took a step towards him, then another, and I was now inside his reach, then next to him.  I knelt beside him, in the middle of the path, in between all the piles of fabric and feathers and pools of blood, black in the moonlight, and put one hand gently on his shoulder.   A shiver went through him, and he let his sword hand drop down to the ground. 

 

His back was soaked with blood.  Between his black tunic and the blood, I couldn’t see the wound.  “I’m going to rip your shirt, so I can see better,” I told him.  There was no response, so I grabbed the torn fabric and ripped.   It felt like silk and tore like paper.   The wound went deep through the muscles of his back.  I could see ribs.  My vision started to swim, and I closed my eyes and took deep breaths through my mouth.  I couldn’t faint now.  I looked again.  The wound was bleeding still, but not as heavily as I’d been expecting.  Maybe he had supernatural healing as well as grace?  Lucky him. 

 

I still needed something to bandage it with. Having no other real option, I turned to the corpse closest to me and tugged on its cloak.  It was stuck partially under its body, but I used its sword to cut the fabric loose. The fabric was thin, and wadded up into a surprisingly compact bundle.   I laid it across the wound, and he grunted.  I pressed down with one arm, the other circling his waist for support, and he tensed at the contact, twisting away from me suddenly.  I lost hold, my pad of fabric fell away, and there was a spurt of fresh blood from the wound from his movements. 

 

“Please, relax.  I have to put pressure on it, to stop the bleeding,” I told him.  He didn’t look at me, hair sheeting down around his face as he crouched, a silver waterfall, but he relaxed marginally, and I tried again.  This time, he didn’t pull away.

 

After a few minutes, I checked, and the bleeding had slowed again.  I wrestled the cloak from another one of the corpses and awkwardly cut it into long strips using the beast’s sword, then used it to wrap the pad in place, tying it as tightly as I could without constricting his breathing too badly.  He still hadn’t moved.  “I think that should hold.  We should try to get you out of here before more of these things show up.”  There was no sign he heard me.  I put my hand on his shoulder.  Nothing.  I brushed his hair back from his face, softer than any silk, and revealed a pointed ear before my hand was knocked away.  Our eyes met again, his angry and fierce despite the pain, or because of it.

 

His ears came to a point.  He’d called me “human.”  I’d rescued an elf.  I felt faint again.

 

I took another couple of deep breaths “Can you stand?” I asked again, offering him my arm.  He ignored it, and tried to use his sword as a prop to lever himself upright.  And then he keeled over into me.  Kneeling, I was off balance and he knocked me over, landing unconscious on top of me.  He was lighter than I’d expected, but it still took all my strength to lever him up and off me.  It would have been easier, I suppose, if I hadn’t tried to keep pressure on the bandage to keep it from starting to bleed again, but I managed, lying him on the ground.  I was trying to figure out what I could do next, if anything, when a noise broke through the sound of the leaves and the wind.  It was footsteps approaching, heavy footsteps.  I saw, down the path, what I could only describe as an ogre coming towards us.  It was huge, shadowed so I couldn’t make out its features, but heavily muscled and with fists the size of my torso. 

 

I might come up to its belly button if I was standing, I thought.  I’m going to die, I thought.  I’m going to die in the woods at night defending an elf from an ogre.  I wanted to laugh.  Well, at least it was death with a purpose, not an accident, a stupid senseless accident like…  My brain locked, wouldn’t finish the thought.  Okay, then.  I’m going to die, now.  I picked up the sword that I’d used to cut up the cloak, and gripped it with both hands, trying to look like I knew what I was doing.  I stood in front of the elf, and said, in what I hoped was a firm voice, no trembling, “Stop.  Leave.  You won’t take him.”

 

Why I was doing this, I didn’t know, except that he was hurt and alone and he’d been so beautiful, his dance. That kind of beauty – there was so little of it in the world, especially for me now.  I didn’t want it to be taken, or if it was I didn’t want to be left behind again, knowing it was gone.

 

The ogre stopped.  It cocked its head to one side, and made a series of, well, squeaky noises, I’d have to say.  That’s the only way to describe them.  It had a rhythm and cadence, but I couldn’t understand it.  I couldn’t help myself, a short burst of hysterical giggles escaped.   I turned it into a cough.  I think the ogre still caught it.

 

The elf stirred behind me.  He said something, weakly. It sounded like “Mr. Wink?”  The ogre squeaked again.  A hand brushed my ankle, and I looked down.  He whispered “friend” and passed out again.  The ogre held its hands out, palms up, and made more squeaking noises.  It was doing the same thing I’d done earlier, I realized.  Approaching a hostile stranger, trying to calm her down, trying to help.  It approached me slowly, hunching its shoulders, trying to make itself look smaller, I suppose.  I let the sword point drop slowly and took a step to the side.  It knelt next to the elf.

 

I heard more squeaking noises, but the ogre wasn’t making them.  I looked around, and saw the ground teeming with little creatures, misshapen, too many arms and legs and eyes and heads, tugging at the bodies of the crow creatures around us.  As I watched, swarms of them converged on the bodies and pulled them away one by one.  Several of them crawled over my elf, one checking his pulse, one looking at his eyes, another checking my bandages.  This one looked at me, pointed to the bandage, and gave me two thumbs up, both from the same hand.  The ogre tried to pick up the elf, but couldn’t get its large hands underneath, so I helped lift him, silver hair spilling across my hand, oh so soft.  The ogre picked him up, and then stood, cradling him in its huge arms.

 

 He bowed to me, then turned and lumbered back down the trail, growing fainter and disappearing before the shadows should have swallowed him up.

 

I felt a tapping on my leg. I looked down. One of the odd misshapen things was on the ground in front of me. It pointed.  I was still holding the sword.  It tugged at the handle.  I looked around.  The trail was bare, except for dark patches in the dirt.  It tapped my knee again, and pointed at the sword, the last of the evidence.

 

“I’d like to keep it, if I may? “ I said.  “To remember.”

 

It cocked its head to one side, just like the ogre, then shrugged its shoulders and scampered off, leaving me alone in the moonlight, now dimming as clouds moved in. 

 

I made it back to the car just before it started pouring.  There’d been no mention of rain in the forecast.  Was this more of the clean-up, I wondered?  Magic elf weather.  On the walk back, my hands started to sting.  I’d sanded and oiled the top of my walking stick, but the shank had still been rough and knobby and I’d torn my palms open when I’d clubbed the crow thing.  And then I’d bandaged a bloody wound.  Oh, joy.  So much for all that first-aid and blood borne pathogen training.  First time I actually need to use it I forget.  I spent the ride back trying to imagine what diseases a person could pick up from an elf’s blood, then gave it up, as I felt another burst of hysterical giggles building up.

 

So the sun is just coming up now and I’m still writing, sitting at the dining room table with the sword lying in front of me.  It’s a gorgeous blade, curved, with feathers carved into the hilt and a murder of flying crows etched into the blade.  It’s taken four pages to describe what elapsed in the space of maybe fifteen minutes.  I’m hoping the detail will help me remember, though, along with this sword, especially since my hands have already healed.  It already seems like a dream, like I fell asleep here at the table in the wee hours of the morning and just woke up.  Such a beautiful sunrise.


	2. A visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, and a cliffhanger, and not exactly what I thought would be the finished chapter, but it's becoming more and more evident that I am not a prolific writer.

I’d thought this would fade away, that it would seem like a dream in a few days. I’d hung the sword above the mantle above the fireplace in the living room. I’d bandaged my palms, wrote my words, took a sleeping pill and slept the next day away. I’d thought when I woke up that life would go back to the way it was. Such as it was. It’s been six days now, though, and I still remember everything perfectly, and there’s a strangeness that has lingered. 

I’ve been trying to go about my daily routines, but there’s a kind of double vision that overlays everything I do. I have flashes of strange places whenever I close my eyes, and if I’m not completely focused on my surroundings I hear strange noises and languages. I’ve been angry a lot too. I’m supposed to be past that, but here it is again. Working out seems to burn some of the anger off, and that’s strange too. I am not a fan of physical exertion as a rule. I can only keep that up for so long, too, my body is telling me. 

I thought about scheduling a therapy session, but what would I say? “I rescued an elf from a bunch of two-legged crow creatures and he bled all over me and now I’m having strange visions. No, I’m not taking any prescriptions right now. Why do you ask? And what’s with those men in the white coats?”

It was night again. I was always the most restless at night, and the past few had been the worst since the early days when I was still raw and hurting. I’d tried to work myself to exhaustion, and the house was sparkling. Corners I hadn’t touched since we’d bought the house had been scrubbed, and I’d even sorted and put away the all the socks, my least favorite household chore in the universe.

I’d opened up all the windows and the French doors to the back deck, even though the weather wasn’t admitting it was springtime yet. But I wanted to air things out, bring fresh air in and the smell of cleaning chemicals out. I hadn’t noticed the chill when I was working, but now that the sun had gone down the house was starting to go from refreshing to clammy, and I started in the bedroom, closing things up.

My mind wasn’t focused on anything, and that’s when the audio doubling was happening the most. The most frequent noise I’d been hearing was the squeaking noises the little misshapen creatures had made that evening. It wasn’t until I got to the patio doors and found the screen ajar that it registered on me that I wasn’t hearing the noise in the background. I turned, and one of the little things was sitting on my kitchen counter, staring at me. I froze. It gave me a thumbs up. Two thumbs, one hand – yeah, I recognized this guy. Or girl, or it. There were no gender identifiers I could see. 

I realized I’d been staring for an awfully long time. It had been staring back at me the whole time, head cocked. Right about the time I came to this realization, it crossed its eyes. Of course, I giggled. It giggled back at me, or at least mimicked the sound. 

“Um, hello?”

It chittered and squeaked back at me. 

“What are you doing here? Is there something you want?” 

It cocked its head again, and then waved at me, and giggled again.

“So, just saying hello?”

It chittered, waved again, hopped off the counter and ran past me and out the door. I watched it hop off the deck and run across the lawn, becoming transparent as it ran until it disappeared.

Okay, then. This called for a drink. Vodka would be really good. A double, at least. All I had for a delivery system was apple juice, but surprisingly the mix was pretty tasty. I’ve been practically tee-totaling for months now (hence the lack of mixers) so I was pretty happy before I got halfway through, I ended up sitting at the dining room table with the French doors open, enjoying a night breeze and playing solitaire on my laptop. My exciting life.

Things all of a sudden got a bit more exciting than I liked, though, when I heard footsteps on the steps coming up the deck from the back yard.  
In my slightly tipsy state, it took me too long to react, so by the time my brain processed “stranger danger” and “where’s the nearest sharp pointy thing” there was someone standing just outside the screen door.

I saw the long silver blonde hair first. Then, the shortness. And the decidedly femaleness. But the facial … scarring? was the same. There was a hesitancy about her, as if she wasn’t sure of her welcome, which I’m probably sure had something to do with whatever expression was on my face. I’m not sure what expression was on my face, actually, but I’ll try to work it out the next time I’m in front of the bathroom mirror. 

So there I was, staring again, and getting stared back at again, for some length of time my brain refused to specify, but probably bordering on the ridiculous side of things. This time, I snapped out of it first.

“Um, hello,” I said. Again. I was two for two this evening for graceful introductions.

“Greetings to you as well,” she replied. “May I?” She gestured at the door.

“Of course.” I slid open the screen door, and my guest glided past me. There was no other word for how she moved. I felt like a giant lumbering oaf, watching her. Which I was doing too much of again, that staring thing. Okay, great. I now had an elf in my dining room. What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, don't knock the apple juice/vodka thing. It actually is pretty darn tasty. No idea when chapter 3 will happen. Mea culpa.


	3. And yet another visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Nuada! All conscious and angry and everything.

What do you do when you have an elf standing in your dining room? I was trying not to panic. Don’t say hello again, I reminded myself. “Um, would you like to sit? Would you like a drink? Oh, and who are you, and why are you here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

Yep. I’m smooth.

 

My guest seemed to be a bit on the uncertain side too, at least. She took one of the chairs at my dining room table, settling into it with fluttering gown and sleeves and hair and folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you. Wine would be lovely, if you have it. I am Nuala, and I am here to thank you for saving my brother’s life. He would thank you himself…” She paused, and the corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Actually, he most likely would not thank you, for he is not fond of humans. But I thank you on his behalf.”

 

“Ah, okay then. Um, you’re welcome. I’m Ella. Pleased to meet you.” She gave me a slight smile and inclined her head. 

 

Okay. Wine. I had wine, I was pretty sure. I rummaged around in the cabinet, and came up with a bottle of mead. Why did I have a bottle of mead? Oh, that’s right. I’d been saving it, because it was left over from my last batch before…. My brain refused to finish the thought, closing down like I’d trained it to do. I had an elf sitting in my dining room. Why just keep this around reminding me of things I needed to forget? So I cracked open the bottle and dug out a couple of fancier glasses, wiped the dust out and poured for each of us. 

 

My guest watched me putter around the kitchen, her head slightly tilted. Were her eyes a bit wide, or was that just normal? I had a Mean Girls moment. _~Oh my God, Ella, you can’t just ask the elf if her eyes are always that big!~_ Thank goodness my internal voice stayed internal this time. I still rambled, though. “So, I apologize in advance if I say something that offends you. I’m not used to much company nowadays, and even if I was, you’re not the kind of company I’d expect to have, and I’m still half convinced I’ve had some kind of breakdown and am imagining all of this.” 

 

She had been watching me the entire time, her head remaining tilted, huge eyes blinking. One corner of her mouth tilted up slightly, then the other, a hesitant smile breaking out on her face. It was beyond adorable, that smile. I would not sigh in adoration, I told myself sternly. No more nervous giggling allowed either. 

 

“This is strange to me as well,” she said. “It has been some time since I interacted with a human.”

 

I handed the elf … Nuala … the glass, then sat myself at the table too. She took a sip, and then another, her eyes closing and her smile widening as she savored the taste. I managed not to fidget as she held the glass up, admiring the way the light shown through the golden liquid. 

 

“There are some things that remain the same, no matter how the world changes. This is lovely. Thank you,” she said. I blushed, and took a sip from my own glass too, hoping I could blame the red in my cheeks on the alcohol. I opened my mouth to say something, although I had no idea what was going to come out of my mouth, but before I could utter a syllable a shooting pain speared through my head, followed by the most intense anger I’d ever felt. I didn’t realize I’d dropped the glass, or had pounded my hand on the table and driven a piece of broken glass into my palm until Nuala dropped hers as well, grabbing her hand at the same time. Time froze as we stared at each other, almost mirror images. Almost because while each of us grasped our right hands with our left, blood was dripping from my palm around the shard embedded in the flesh beneath my thumb. There was no glass embedded in Nuala’s palm, but somehow she still had a cut on hers in the same place. It wasn't as deep as mine, only a scratch really, and just bleeding a thin line of red. I couldn’t see how she’d become injured, though, as her glass was still intact. 

 

I’d forgotten to breathe, it seems, and when I finally drew breath, a great gasp, the anger roared back, coupled with a strange displacement, a feeling of traveling a great distance, and I knew without looking that there was someone else on the deck. I found myself not at all surprised to see the stranger I’d rescued, Nuala’s brother, staring at us through the screen door. 

 

He pulled the door open without asking, unlike his sister, yanking it off its track, and started yelling at Nuala the instant his foot crossed the threshold. “Sister, what do you do here?”

 

I should have kept my mouth shut, but any sense of self-preservation was lost under the continuing onslaught of rage I was feeling. So I stepped in between them and yelled right back. “Oh, she’s only doing what her high and mighty brother couldn’t be bothered to do – thanking the lowly human who saved that ungrateful brother’s life!”

 

He blinked at me in startlement, almost shock, and the anger flickered and faded for a moment, then flared up again as he opened his mouth to yell at me, but Nuala stood and put a hand on each of our shoulders. “Please stop.” Her brother opened his mouth again, and she said again, in a pleading voice. “Brother. Please.”

 

He was almost a foot taller than me now that he was upright. Nuala wasn’t much shorter, and between the two of them I felt like a dwarf. The anger had disappeared, and my knees started to shake as it registered that not only was he towering over me, but he was half again as wide through the shoulders, and I’d seen firsthand how deadly he was. What on earth had I been thinking? I raised my hand, meaning to rub my forehead, and I’d somehow managed to forget about the shard of glass sticking out of my palm. My hiss of pain was echoed by the two elves, and as he raised his right hand I saw that he too had a cut across the flesh beneath his thumb. He looked at my hand, then at Nuala, who raised hers to show him. His wound appeared to be somewhere between hers and mine in seriousness, deeper and bleeding more that hers, but not as deep as mine and bleeding less.

 

“How…” I started to ask, then shook my head. “No, I think I’d like to stop bleeding first. Then I’ll start that question again.” It didn’t look like he was going to start yelling again, so I eased my way out from in between them. I started towards the kitchen, then hesitated. “Um, do you think you could fix that, please?” He stared at me blankly, and I nodded towards the screen door lying on the deck. He started to get huffy, eyebrows raised in scorn. I guess princes weren’t expected to clean up after themselves. I started to get huffy right back, but Nuala spoke again before I could begin another yelling match. 

 

“Nuada. We are guests here.” He glowered at me for a moment, then gave an undignified snort and shrugged his sister’s hand from her shoulder and stepped back out onto the deck. 

 

Okay. Hand. Bleeding. I should do something about that. I pulled the glass out at the kitchen sink and ran cold water over it for a minute or so, then wrapped myself up in paper towels. Elevation and pressure, check. I did not want to go to the ER – I’d made too many visits there over the last couple of years. But there was no way I was going to be able to superglue this together, not with the cut’s location and how deep it was. And of course I’d done this to my right hand. The next couple of weeks were going to be fun. I found myself getting angry again just as I realized that Nuada was cursing at the screen door. He wasn’t speaking in English, but swearing comes across even if you don’t know the language. There was a trick to settling the screen in place, which he didn’t know, except just as I thought this he looked up at me, meeting my eyes for an instant, and then gave the door just the right little twist and it popped into its groove and just at that moment it hit me. How exactly had I known he was a prince?

 

While Nuada had been working and swearing at the door, Nuala had cleaned up my broken glass from the dining room table. She’d managed to find the paper towels and locate my trashcan without asking, moving around my kitchen with a familiarity she shouldn’t have had. She seemed to realize the strangeness of this at the moment I thought it, too, and the three of us looked back and forth between each other, each with a bewildered expression on our face. I knew without a doubt that this was a normal thing between the two of them, this thoughtless interaction, but how on earth had I become a part of it?

 

“How indeed?” Nuala asked, and I had no idea if I’d spoken that last bit out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still reading this, I am amazed and humbly grateful. I got distracted by other things (Hello, Dragon Age!), but I haven't forgotten about this. It's just taking a lot longer for the story to translate from my head to the screen.
> 
> And yes, I'm playing up more of a psychic connection between Nuada and Nuala in this from what they had in the movies, or how would she ever have hidden her piece of the crown from her brother? But it's more fun this way.


	4. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is strange indeed. My brother and I bond through our shared blood. Why you would now be drawn is a mystery.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stuck in the most boring class to ever have classed this week, and it shook something loose. There may even be another chapter almost finished.

I felt myself pinned by two sets of eyes, one inquisitive, one furious. My head started throbbing and I rubbed at my temples, and Nuala copied my gesture. She noticed I was doing it as well, and sighed. 

“Brother, if you please?”

Mr. Grumpy’s scowl deepened, but after a moment the pounding sensation receded. I don’t think he got his anger under control – he just muted it somehow so it didn’t affect us as much. I’d need to learn that if this wasn’t just some passing thing.

“You must concentrate on putting a wall up inside your head,” Nuala told me, because of course they were still picking up on my thoughts. Oh, great. Had I broadcast “Mr. Grumpy”? I couldn’t tell. I’d need more practice before I could begin to differentiate between different levels of grump.

A wall. Okay. I was good at those. I closed my eyes, imagined myself in a small room, an empty room, with white painted walls. The background noise faded slowly away, and for the first time I realized how noisy my head had been since that night. What was it they said? No good deed goes unpunished? 

Apparently when you save an elf’s life the both of you end up rattling around inside each other’s brains. None of the fairy tales that I’d ever read said anything about that.

When I opened my eyes again, most of the strain had drained out of Nuala’s face as well. There was no change in her brother’s, but at least he wasn’t beating up the inside of my skull anymore.

“This is really weird.” The words slipped out, and two sets of eyebrows shot up.

“It is strange indeed. My brother and I bond through our shared blood. Why you would now be drawn is a mystery.”

“Blood,” I said, rubbing the palm of my uninjured hand. The scrapes were healed now, but the skin was still slightly pink. “You were injured, and I scraped my hands.” Great. I had picked something up, some weird psychic virus. I was never leaving home again without a pair of rubber gloves in my pocket.

Nuala frowned. “A simple exchange of blood should not have had such a profound effect.”

“She saved my life.” Oh, how he hated saying those words. A flash of something got through my walls. I got the impression that he didn’t like humans very much. Kind of on the level of vermin, I was guessing. “The royal guards were ordered only to detain me, I’m sure, bring me before father, but I pushed them.” Big surprise there. “She stopped what would have been a killing blow.”

“So an exchange of blood and a life owed?” They both turned to look at me again, worry creasing Nuala’s forehead and anger Nuada’s.

“Okay, let me get this straight. You two have this bond, and when something hurts one of you the other one gets hurt too, right?” They both nodded. “So when you got sliced up last week,” and I nodded to Nuada, “that meant you all of a sudden had a big cut on your back too, right?” Nuala glanced at her brother, her hand moving to press against her back as she nodded again.

“How long is this going to go on? Not that it’s not a blast hearing phantom voices and getting splitting headaches for no reason, but you guys live a lot longer than humans, right? So what’s going to happen to you two when I die? I mean, I’m in my forties now, and most of my grandparents lived into their nineties, but that’s still fifty years max. I mean ….” I trailed off, starting to feel a bit light headed. 

The elves shared a look.

“The ***** would know.” Whatever word Nuala spoke didn’t register.

“We can’t take _her_ there. Not a human. Not looking like this.”

Okay, so I was wearing a faded t-shirt and ripped jeans that looked pretty shabby next to their fancy clothes, but they’d shown up on my back porch unannounced at night, so what did he expect. I’d show him, though.

“Well, what if I didn’t look like this?” He sneered, and I got the impression that nothing I could do would be an improvement. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

And with that I left them standing in my dining room and ran downstairs. When I opened the closet in the spare bedroom a waft of cedar hit me in the face. I rummaged through all my old faire garb, settling on a gown of deep green satin shot through with gold and embroidered with crystal and pearl beads. I grabbed the gold velvet cloak and the black leather boots. The sandals matched the dress better but I since I didn’t know where we’d be going I opted for safety over style. 

Stripping off my tee, I slipped a chemise over my head and then wriggled into the gown, giving thanks yet again that I’d been a part of the fae court. No Elizabethan stays and bum roll for me. A few tugs tightened the lacing. Digging my makeup out of the corner, I gave myself a touch of contouring, a bit of eyeliner, blurring my face from the mundane to the ethereal. I considered, but decided against any prosthetics. It'd be easier to just keep my hood up. 

When I came back upstairs the siblings were scowling at each other and I knew in that special way that they’d just finished arguing about something. It looked like they were about to start up again, so I waylaid them.

“Will this do?”

They went from staring daggers at each other to gaping at me, which felt good. Nuala looked me up and down and smiled and I couldn’t have not smiled back if my life depended on it. Nuada’s expression didn’t change but I didn’t expect it to. He seemed to be fueled by scowls and temper tantrums and a smile would probably break something. His scowl deepened and I realized I’d let my new walls slip already. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him as I concentrated again.

“You can’t be seen, brother.”

Another glare, and Nuala met it with a raised eyebrow. He rolled his eyes, but relented. 

“I will meet you there, then.” He slid open the screen door and slid through, disappearing as he crossed the threshold.

Nuala sensed my surprise. “Doorways have power. Come.” She held out her hand.

“Does it have to be an outside door? Because I don’t want to walk away and leave my house unlocked.”

She cocked her head, considering, then nodded. Her eyes closed and she grew still and I felt a ripple of … something radiate out from her, and a wave of dizziness hit me. 

“There. None shall disturb your dwelling in your absence.” She held out her hand again, and this time I took it. She pulled me forward and we stepped forward in unison and as we passed through the doorway the deck melted away in front of me and then there was a flash and then darkness.

I stumbled as the darkness gave way to light and noise and my feet hit uneven pavement. Nuala’s hand steadied me and I blinked as my eyes re-adjusted. The noise resolved itself into sounds of traffic, horns and zooming cars above us on an overpass and the light turned out to be a streetlight directly above us. It illuminated a huge door, round and engraved with strange symbols.

“Um, how come nobody notices this?” I asked. 

Nuala grinned. “If it weren’t for my brother’s blood, this would look like but a wall to you, encrusted with filth and painted symbols of a crude nature.” She stepped forward and began working the three dials, and one by one giant gears engaged and locks opened and the door spiraled open in front of us. The traffic noise and alley stench were buried over the sounds and smells that washed out over us, and Nuala gestured.

“Welcome to the Troll Market.”


	5. More Blood with Bonus Trolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the troll market, and a possible solution is proposed.

When we crossed through the door it swung closed behind us and I could hear the locks engage.

“Can’t you do your traveling trick directly here?”

“The enchantments that protect this place do not allow such things. The Troll Market can only be accessed by one of thirteen doors.”

“Why thirteen?

Nuala shrugged. “No one knows. Many things have been lost through the ages.”

I tried not to stare, tried to keep my gaze down and my face hidden, but it was hard. This place was a living page from a fantasy novel, full of strange creatures hawking magical wares. It was so fascinating that it took me a bit to realize that the noise died down around us as we waded through the market and even though nobody looked directly at us, the crowd parted before us as we walked. I didn’t check, but as the volume rose again after we passed I had the sense that stares followed us.

Nuala’s expression didn’t change, a serene smile fixed on her face, but I could feel worry radiating off of her.

“Too much attention?” I asked.

“It is not you. Too many rumors have traveled outside court. My brother’s recent behavior has worried many.”

“What has he done? I still don’t understand why he was fighting with those things the other evening.”

She sighed. “We established a truce with you humans many of your generations ago, so long ago that none seem to remember. Most of us still hold to the truce nonetheless. My brother does not. He was summoned to court by my father to explain some recent actions and Nuada … declined the invitation. The beings you saw him fighting were my father’s personal guards. They were sent to collect him and bring him to my father.”

The memory of the fight, all the blood, came back with a rush. “They were really aggressively trying to collect him, from what I saw.”

Nuala sighed again, and chuckled, without any real humor in it. “With my brother, situations have a tendency to escalate.”

Our conversation had brought us to a quieter part of the market, lined with shops instead of stalls and spread blankets. Nuala led me to one of these, warm light spilling out of windows that framed wall-to-wall bookshelves. As we neared the door a cloaked figure materialized out of the shadows. I might have been alarmed if I didn’t instinctively know who it was. 

“Brother,” Nuala said in greeting, and received a bob of a hood in response.

A bell chimed as we entered, a dose of normalcy in all the strangeness. It was immediately offset, though, by the appearance of the creature that appeared from between two shelves. It had a castle on its head. No, wait. Its head was a castle. Literally. _Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare._ I kept repeating this to myself as it shuffled forward. 

“Who comes? Who comes to consult?” 

Nuada had lowered his hood when we entered, but there was no recognition when it (he? she? they?) stared at his and Nuala’s faces. 

Nuala rolled back her sleeve and presented her arm to the creature. I could see what looked like a brand on her skin, a pattern of twisting lines outlined in blue that made my head swim when I tried to follow it. 

“Your highness!” the being exclaimed, bowing.

Nuada did the same, and although his brand was the same it was outlined in red. Mr. Castlehead repeated “Your Highness,” but this time instead of bowing he took a step backwards, shuffling his feet and glancing sideways, as if looking for an escape route. Smart guy, here.

He recovered quickly and peered down at me.

“And who is this?”

“He does not recognize faces. Do you have some mark that he might use to remember you by?” Nuala asked.

“Yes, yes. Faces change a thousand times in the space of one breath and uncounted times in the span of a life. Faces are no good. No, no.”

A little self-conscious, I pulled back the neckline of my gown, baring the tattoo above my left breast, a black outline of a tree. 

He studied it for a moment, nodding. “Good, very good.”

I hesitated about giving my name, not sure anymore what was superstition and what might in fact be truth, remembering that names were said to have and give power. Nuala took the decision from me.

“This is Ella, and she has presented us with something of a problem.”

I let my eyes wander while she explained our situation. My fingers itched to explore, to roam through the books that filled the shop, floor to ceiling and wall to wall. The old book smell was the same here as in the normal world, another touch of reality to this surreal night.

Castlehead guy nodded and made a series of humming and whistling noises as Nuala talked and when she ran out of words he beckoned to me. When I stood before him he reached out, his hands not quite touching on either side of my head, holding them there while he whistled some more, and then he leaned in and, well, sniffed me, whuffling noises that reminded me of my neighbor’s huge dog. After getting a good snootful he pulled back and stared at me.

“Interesting. There is a blood connection, yes, but stronger than just a simple exchange as you described should have engendered, even with the life debt. It would not be as surprising if your family had a history of mingling your bloodline with mortals, but that has never occurred. At least that is known.”

He began muttering to himself, oblivious to the reaction Nuada had to this thought. Castle guy had no sense of self-preservation, it seemed, to imply that something like this could have happened. The outrage that Nuada felt about anyone considering he or anyone in his family would “mingle” with mortals bludgeoned at my fragile walls with wrecking ball force. 

“Is there anything that can be done to separate us? Or minimize the effect?” Nuada demanded. Yeah, if he could try not to be quite so angry about things, my brain would really appreciate it. 

“Between true born twins, that is not possible, as you both well know. In this case, though?” Mr. Castlenoggin had begun running his fingers across the spines of the books in one of the dustier cases, keeping up a running but unintelligible commentary, finally settling on one volume. He pulled it from the shelf and paged through it, nodding as he settled on one page. 

“A talisman, yes. A talisman is what you need. Made with blood to lessen the blood’s influence. It must be made and charged in this realm, and she will need to return from time to time as exposure to the mortal realm will weaken its potency. But over time it will lessen the bond and so the drain will lessen as well, until the bond dissipates. When it does the talisman will disintegrate and you will know it has completed its work.”

“How long will this take?” I asked. “Because I’d prefer not to have to spend all my vacation time down here for the rest of my life.” 

He shrugged. “Years, months, decades. We will see.”

Great.

He put the book down and started rummaging around in a cabinet, coming out with a bowl, gold and covered with enamel, and a matching dagger. He handed the bowl to Nuala, who took it, and drew the dagger from its sheath.

“Alright, who will be the first?”

“How much do you need? And do you need to make a fresh cut for each of us? I mean, we already know that if one of us bleeds, the other two do too.”

“No, no, a fresh wound and fresh blood from each. The talisman will be more potent this way.”

Three more cuts. Great. Like the gash in my palm wasn’t bad enough. I was going to have to hide from the world for weeks until they healed. 

“Well, maybe before you start slicing you could find some bandages?” 

He blinked, like the thought of wound care hadn’t occurred to him. 

“She is still merely human,” Nuala said. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t cluelessness on his part. Both Nuada and Nuala seemed to be moving fine for people who’d had their backs laid open only a few days ago, it was true. 

Castleguy rummaged around in the cabinet again and came up with a piece of cloth that looked relatively clean. I couldn’t think of anything else to put him off, so I held my hand out. I gave him the right one after waffling for a second or two, deciding it was better to have one whole digit even if it was my off hand. He didn’t go for the hand, though, instead making a nick at my wrist just at the pulse point. As I watched, a trickle of my blood painted the side of the bowl red. When he decided he had enough he handed me the cloth and I pressed it to my wrist. He turned next to Nuada, who moved just as the cut was made and I watched as blood spurted from his wrist instead of trickled. You bastard, I thought as I felt wetness seeping through the cloth. I increased the pressure on my wrist, elevating my hand. The sensation when it was Nuala’s turn was lesser, and she was more graceful about it, thank goodness.

Mr. Castle swirled the bowl around, back to muttering to himself again. The bowl had started to glow, I saw, or maybe it was the blood glowing and reflecting off the polished interior? Either way, it was eerie.

“Yes, this is good,” he said, staring into the bowl. “Come back in three days and I will have it ready for you.” He looked up, meeting my gaze. “You will need to stay in our realm for seven days at first, to charge it and attune it to you.”

A week’s vacation in fairyland? Could be good. 

“I cannot take her to court if we wish to keep this a secret, brother. Those that wish you harm may try to take advantage. You will have to shelter her for the week,” Nuala said. Okay, scratch that. A week cooped up with Mr. Grumpy in his secret elf lair? Nope. Not good. Not good at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played with this a lot after writing it. It's been so long that I've let this story sit that I don't know if I'm going forward in the same voice, because my writing style has changed so much since I started it. But it looks like there are still folks reading, so we'll see what happens. 
> 
> Ch 6 is about half done. I'm hoping I can keep the momentum going.
> 
> Thanks for your patience! *blows kisses*


	6. Talisman Schmalisman

My brain was in the throes of the most epic “nope” to ever have been noped.

Nuala felt my distress (I was not panicked) and put her and on my arm, giving me a huge dose of big eyes. Not fair.

“It is only for a week, and we will do our best to make you as comfortable as possible,” she said as she looked down at me, all fluttering eyelashes. So not fair. “It is the least we can do to repay you, after all, as you wouldn’t be in this position if you had not saved both our lives.”

Her voice went from silk to steel by the end of the sentence, and she was no longer looking at me but glaring up over my shoulder at her brother. He made a wordless sound full of disgust, but nodded.

Okay, then. Might as well make the best of it. 

“Can I see where I’ll be staring before you take me home? So I’ll have some idea of how to pack?”

A silent battle of wills went on above and through me. Nuala won again. I didn’t know whether I should be grateful or not.

Nuada disappeared into the shadows again as we left the shop. Nuala took us through the market in a different direction and we ended up at another door. It opened easily from the inside and deposited us into a cobbled alley, houses leaning over us and a rosy sky above. I was going to believe that we’d hopped time zones and that I hadn’t lost hours or days in some weird fairytale way.

Nuala confirmed my thoughts. “The doors to the market are located all over the world. We will be doing some traveling. There is no straight path that leads to my brother’s lair.”

Lair. That was so not a soothing word.

She led me to another doorway, and then another and another and my brain gave up on trying to sort things out and went numb. It took me a bit to realize that we’d arrived at our destination, someplace underground. We stood in a wide circular room, made from bricks, with tunnels that branched off from it in all directions. I’d have thought “sewer” from the look of it, but it smelled more cavelike and not really rank at all. There was a steady sound of water dripping in the background but the ground beneath our feet was dry. It was warmer than its appearance suggested it should be. A diffuse light came from nowhere I could identify.

My thoughts were interrupted by a tugging at my skirts and when I looked down I saw a familiar face and was greeted with two thumbs up. I smiled when I recognized my little visitor.

“Hello. Do you live here too?” 

It nodded and then waved at me, scampering away. 

“You may use these rooms here.”

I didn’t jump at Nuada s voice. He was standing in a shadowed doorway behind us, and stepped back to allow us entry. The space was cozy, lit with lamps that gave off a clear, warm light. There was an electrical plug in one wall, I noticed. 

“Does that work?”

“The previous tenants made it so.” Something in his voice made me reluctant to ask what had happened to those tenants. “I’ll see to it that you have suitable sleeping accommodations.” That was surprisingly civil.

“What about the, er, facilities?” At their blank looks, I elaborated. “Is there a bathroom down here?” Did elves pee? Somehow that detail had never made it into any of the fantasy novels I’d ever read.

There was a small water closet. It had a toilet, ancient but serviceable, with a chain that you pulled for water to rinse the bowl. I’d have to bring my own toilet paper, it seemed. Probably a surge protector too, just to be safe. Couple of extra blankets and a pillow, too. Okay, then. I could do this. Three days to get ready, seven days of vacation in Grumpyland, and then we’d move on from there. 

The days flew by. I made a few calls and a couple of social media posts. Going on a bit of a retreat, I told people. No internet or phones, just me and the possibility of a new book. I nearly snapped at the tenth “glad you’re writing again” comment. What I’d do if my publisher got wind of it I didn’t know. I’d probably better start roughing something out, just in case. I could start with what I’d written down that one night. Straight bodice rippers had been my stock in trade before but supernatural stuff was huge now. I could probably find a market for it.

I had my monthly counseling appointment the morning of the third day. I’d been having monthly appointments with Dr. Schreber for almost two years now and we’d settled into a routine in the first few months. She’d ask how I’d been doing. I’d recite all my highs and lows since the last time I’d seen her and we’d go over how I’d dealt with the lows and what might have brought them on. I threw her this time, though, before we even got started.

“Do you think there’s still magic in the world?” I asked, and watched as she blinked at me, brain resetting at the disruption of our normal flow.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are all these stories. All these legends. All these fantastic creatures that they say used to wander the earth, and all the things they used to do. It had to have come from somewhere. Do you think there could have been any truth to any of it?” Instead of slouching back on the sofa like I’d normally be doing, I leaned forward. “Are there fairies dancing around the mushroom circles, except we’ve forgotten how to see them? What if we rub the lamps but the genies don’t come out because we don’t really believe they’re in there? What if it’s all still there and we just don’t know how to access it anymore?”

I’d said something wrong, because she’d gotten those little wrinkles in her forehead. I hadn’t seen them in months.

“Ella,” she began, and just the way she said my voice had me tense all up like I hadn’t done in ages. “Ella,” she repeated, “there isn’t a genie that’s going to pop out of a lamp and give you three wishes. There’s no magical fix. We’ve just got to accept that sometimes life does these things, and move forward.”

Oh. Oops. Of course that’s how she’d react when I mentioned magic.

“No, no, that’s not it,” I hastened to reassure her. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. Doing some research, even.”

“You’re writing again?” she asked. When I nodded, the wrinkles smoothed away. “Oh, that’s so wonderful. I’m so happy to hear that.” The rest of the appointment went on like normal after that.

Afterwards I went home and packed. Laptop and notebooks went into the work bag and I stuffed a duffel with clothes and toiletries. I hadn’t thought to ask, but it didn’t seem likely I’d have internet access in fairyland, so I threw in a few DVDs and some books too. Three days, they said, but I realized I didn’t know whether it was three whole days and they’d show up to whisk me away that evening or the next morning. Food. We hadn’t talked about food. And caffeine. Oh my god. How could I go a week without caffeine? A quick run to the store got me a case of Coke, and I threw a bunch of chocolate into the cart as well. I wavered, but ended up grabbing a couple packages of Oreos too. A plus number one comfort food there. Mr. Grumpy better keep his hands off them. Toilet paper. Almost forgot. That would have been bad. 

I spent the rest of the evening making more comfort food for dinner, mac and cheese with so much cheddar the noodles glommed together in huge chunks, and ham fried in bacon grease. I took my bowl and a bottle of cheap white wine out and sat on the deck while I ate. By the time I reached the bottom of the bottle it was almost midnight and it looked like my pickup wasn’t going to be until the next day. In my tipsy state dishes were probably not a good idea, so I put the lid on the pot and stuck the whole mess in the fridge, washed down a couple of ibuprofen with a glass of water and crawled into bed.

I hadn’t set an alarm, because I didn’t know what time my ride was going to show up. I hadn’t figured it would be an issue, as I always manage to wake up between five and six am no matter what time I go to bed, but the wine had done a number on me, so the first thing I knew the next morning was the gentle touch of fingers on my shoulder. When you live alone, that’s not a good thing. I bolted straight upright in bed, shrieking, and Nuala staggered backwards, tripping and almost falling on the pile of clothes in front of the closet.

Now that I was awake I could feel her, a warmth in my head. She could feel me, too, I could see. Damn, what would my head be doing if I hadn’t swallowed a couple of pills last night? 

“Sorry,” I managed to get out. “We didn’t hash out all the details for this. I didn’t know when you were coming.”

“My apologies as well. That did not occur to me. We will do better for your future stays.”

I’d gone to sleep last night (well, passed out really) in my clothes, and hadn’t brushed my teeth either. Yuck.

“Are we on some kind of timeline? Because I’d really like to shower before we go.”

“No, please. Take your time. Things will be ready when they are ready. There is no rush.”

I put the kettle on before hopping into the shower and a mug of strong tea did wonders for my mood before we left. Nuala picked up my duffel before I could protest, so I shouldered my other bags and we began our journey through doorways again. I tried to keep track of how many we went through but they blurred together and in no time we were standing in that large brick room again. 

My two-thumbed friend led a surge of little bodies that picked up my bags and whisked them into the little rooms that were to be mine. A bed had been added, piled high with pillows and a huge comforter, and a table with a chair sat next to it. All of it would have fit right in on a fantasy movie set – everything was ornately carved and painted with weird animals and vines. The mattress looked like it could float away if a breeze wafted through the room and all the fabrics looked like silk. This might not be too bad after all. Well, except for one little thing.

“I trust this will suit?” Nuada must have stuffed every thought he had into a tiny little bottle and corked it because I didn’t feel anything coming off of him. His voice made up for it, though, icicles falling from his lips as he spoke.

I shrugged, mainly just to be difficult. “It’ll do, I guess.” 

He started to snap in reply but Nuala intervened. “Then we should make our way back to the troll market, yes?”

I’d dressed in another one of my faire outfits for the trip, this time full pantaloons and a blouse and vest with my same cloak. The fabrics looked cheap and dull next to the bedding. Maybe while this thing, whatever it is, was going on, I could get ahold of some yardage to take back with me. That would be a silver lining to this situation.

Getting the talisman was kind of anticlimactic. It was pretty, round and engraved with a pattern that made no sense to my eyes, carved from something rock-like, dark green shot through with silver, but it didn’t sparkle or glow or hum or do anything but lie there. Rampartsnoggin took another dot of blood from each of our left ring fingers. He called them the “heart fingers,” which was interesting. Did the Greeks got it from the elves, I wondered? After mixing the blood in a silver bowl he brushed it into the talisman and hung it around my neck. It wasn’t cold against my skin, and it seemed to have absorbed our blood, because it didn’t stain my skin or clothes.

“Seven days to charge,” he reminded us and then shooed us out of his stall.

And then we played the door game again and Nuala promised me that she’d return before my sentence was up and left me alone with her brother, who promptly disappeared himself after practicing his sneer in my direction. The bed was as soft as it looked and smelled of strange flowers, and I decided a nap was the best way to start out my stay in this strange little pocket of faerie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just broke 10K. Hooray! Thank you to all who have stuck it out with this, the most infrequently and randomly updated of all my fics. My outline has four more chapters, but things do tend to get stretched. We'll see what happens.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of I don't know how many chapters. I haven't written the others yet, so I don't have any schedule for posting. Hopefully I won't leave you hanging too long if you like this. It's all there in my head. Hopefully it wants to come out and play.
> 
> This is also the first piece of fanfic I've published, so I'm a wee bit nervous.
> 
> Feel free to come say hi over on [tumblr](http://thewightknight.tumblr.com/).


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